She knows me. Her family is powerful. Maybe—just maybe—all isn’t lost. I cling to the idea like a life raft.
“Miss, this is official police business,” the officer says dismissively, making additional notes on his pad.
“Perhaps, I should ring Captain Larkin,” she says sweetly, but her dark eyes narrow into slits. She might not know what’s going on, but she has my back. “I need to speak to him about the police officer’s ball my family is hosting. I’m certain he can clear things up.”
The officer pauses and finally looks at her. He sighs, dropping his head a little. “I have no idea what is going on here,” he says. “I only know the facts. Captain Larkin’s already abreast of the situation.”
“How?” I butt in. All of this is happening so fast. Too fast.
Planned. Planned. Planned. The word skips around my brain to an irritating tune like my own mind is upset with me. Because I knew before I ever landed in Nashville or stepped foot on the plane, even before Daddy arrived in London with the adoption paperwork, that I was outmatched. Three against one with no allies of my own.
“Believe it or not, he doesn’t tell me these things,” he says in a clipped tone. “But he’s been quite clear on the situation. We’re to work directly with your family. You should thank him really, he’s put a gag on talking to the media. Anyone talks and he’s firing everyone who touches this case.” He stalks off to talk to another officer.
“What is going on, Adair?” Poppy sounds genuinely scared. She has to have pieced together a bit of what’s going on. She knows I’m hiding something.
None of that matters. I dart closer to the room, trying to get to the door. I just need to see her. I just need to know she’s okay. The officer looks up from his conversation and places one warning hand on his holster.
I nod as if to say I understand and that I’m not going to try anything.
Poppy joins me, watching but not speaking, and we creep to the open door. There’s another officer in the room, taking photographs, and a pair of medics blocking the view of the bed. My heart beats like a an animal caught in a trap, desperately trying to break free but knowing the effort is futile. There’s a balled up diaper on the floor. My bags are gone from the table. The room is bare and sterile until a shrill cry shatters the somber scene. I’m vaguely aware of Poppy’s startled jump, but I don’t think. I just go.
“I’m going to need you to back up,” the officer says.
“Please,” I sob, my own tears matching Ellie's panicked cries. “She needs me. I didn’t leave her. I won’t take her. Just let me calm her down.”
The officer looks over, her eyes meeting that of the female medic’s. Some silent conversation passes between them, before the medic nods.
“Just get her calm,” the female officer says, “but don’t go anywhere. Don’t make this any worse.”
I rush to the bed, snatching Ellie up and trying to ignore the medical instruments strewn around her. They had to check her out after they found her like this.
“Is she okay?” I ask the medic, cuddling her close. Ellie’s face turns into me, quieting for a moment before she begins to root.
“Cold,” she says warily. “But otherwise in excellent health.” I hear it there: doubt.
Can she see how this doesn’t make sense?
“I didn’t leave her,” I say numbly, lifting her tiny hands to kiss her fingers. “I will never leave her.”
Another look is exchanged, but neither speaks. They’ve been given their orders.
Poppy steps into the room, hesitating near the door. She’s smart enough to understand what’s going on. I owe her an explanation. We both know it, but now isn’t the time, because I don’t know how much time I have left.
“Should I call Captain Larkin?” she asks, but the question rings hollow. We both know that he’s already been called by someone with more power and money and influence, by a man you don’t say no to if you want to keep your public service job.
I shake my head. I just want to be here while I can. I push aside anxious images of what comes next: fighting and threats and loss. Because even as I try to focus on this moment—on the feeling of my daughter in my arms—scenarios play out in my mind, and they all end the same way no